Mistletoe All the Way
Autor Lauren Blakelyen Limba Engleză Hardback – 11 noi 2026
She wants to make him Mr. Holiday. He wants to stay a certified Grinch. From #1 New York Times bestselling author Lauren Blakely comes a small-town spicy holiday romance about a guarded cowboy veterinarian and a Christmas-loving optimist who team up for a town holiday competition.
Dr. Noah Lennox lives by three holiday rules—avoid his hometown, cheerful people, and Christmas itself.
But when his beloved grandfather announces he’s retiring and handing the cherished sleigh-ride farm to either Noah or his slick cousin Stephen, the first rule goes out the window. Back home in Evergreen Falls, the veterinarian vows to fight for the farm that means everything to him. The problem is the town doesn’t exactly welcome its resident Scrooge with open arms.
Except for one very charming holiday enthusiast. Eloise Langston, a sunny tourism bureau hopeful, needs a win to land her dream job. Her holly jolly plan? Turn the broody, broad-shouldered grump into a festive front-runner to help the town’s Mr. Holiday competition draw record crowds.
Soon, in this “warm, witty, and impossible to put down” (Library Journal) tale, Noah and Eloise find themselves tangled in twinkle lights, fake kisses, and one very real attraction. But with the farm’s future at stake, Stephen’s scheming, and Eloise’s career on the line, there’s a blizzard of reasons to put their feelings on ice.
Or will they fight to turn their holiday fling into forever under the mistletoe?
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Specificații
Notă biografică
A #1 New York Times and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Lauren Blakely is known for her contemporary romance style that’s sexy, feel-good, and witty. Lauren likes dogs, cake, and show tunes and she is the vegetarian at your dinner party. Find out more at LaurenBlakely.com.
Extras
Chapter 1: Ho, Ho, What Have We Here? 1 HO, HO, WHAT HAVE WE HERE?
Noah
Fact: Retirement parties should be held on Zoom. Especially ones during the holidays. Then I could raise a glass to my gramps from my Colorado cabin, shut my laptop, and spend the Thanksgiving break with the only company I actually enjoy—my dog, Rusty.
Instead, I’m mere minutes away from my destination after hours on the road, windshield wipers battling snow, listening to the latest crime thriller while I brace myself for two of my least favorite things—people and commercially manufactured cheer.
Rusty catches my attention in the rearview mirror, giving me plaintive sad eyes that only my Irish setter mutt can serve up.
“Next rest stop, buddy. You can sign your name in the snow, and I’ll grab some chocolate-covered orange slices.”
Those treats are the only way I’ll survive Evergreen Falls, an overly festive, overly Christmas-ified, overly everything town near Lake Tahoe where everyone wants to know if you’re enjoying the holiday season. I’m a veterinarian. Enjoy is not a word we associate with the holidays, given the way our business ramps up with emergencies at this time of year, and with unwanted pets delivered to us. Breaks my fucking heart.
The highway curves toward my hometown. I squint at a sign up ahead, a bushy green garland wrapped around it. Barney’s Roadside Snacks and Gas—an institution known for not only its fuel but also its fantastic candy selection—is still in business more than a decade after I took off for college.
Some things never change. Like the fact that Barney sells the best candy in the state.
I pull off the snowy road, then park my truck. After I unhook Rusty from his comfy, custom car seat, I slip some booties onto his feet. Anything for my best friend. You never know what you’ll find in a gas station parking lot, like puddles of antifreeze, that deadly temptress for pups.
We pass a juniper bush, all decked out in Christmas lights—typical Barney—on our way to a nearby patch of snow-covered grass. As Rusty takes care of business, my attention snags on something bright and shiny pulling into the parking lot. Even through the falling snow, it’s hard to miss the vintage red truck complete with a rounded hood and curving fenders. There’s a Christmas tree in the bed.
Of course.
It’s like someone is auditioning for the role of “nostalgia-loving quirky character” in a holiday flick.
Ten bucks says it belongs to Mayor Bumblefritz from Evergreen Falls. But when the driver’s door creaks open, it’s not the Mrs. Claus–esque figure who emerges.
Out steps a woman in sleek black pants, a red wool coat, and a white scarf. Her light brown hair frames her cheekbones in soft waves that look like they took all morning to style. Pretty and way too put together. She’s the type of woman who’d wear stilettos in the snow. And break an ankle in them for the sake of fashion.
But when I glance down, I see she’s actually wearing sturdy snow boots. Okay, then. I’m wrong once a year, and apparently today is the day.
She’s carrying a patch kit, and since she marches straight to the tire at the back of the truck, it seems like she knows what she’s doing. Good. I turn the other way, Rusty trotting by my side as we head into the shop, where “Let It Snow” crackles on an old sound system.
The scent of sugar in all flavors drifts past my nose—tart, sickly sweet, and everything in between. I beeline straight for the second aisle. Some things you just don’t forget—like the location of your favorite treats. I dart out a hand and grab a bag of chocolate-covered orange slices.
At the counter, a grizzled old man in a fisherman’s sweater looks up from his crossword puzzle book when I set down the goods.
“Afternoon, Chris. Still getting used to you with that beard,” says the old guy.
This is great. Barney thinks I’m my identical twin—Chris. The usually clean-shaven local celebrity vet has both an online show and an overabundance of charm. And evidently, some facial hair to match mine.
Time to play my favorite holiday game: annoy my brother by pretending I’m him for as long as I can without getting caught. And while getting some digs in, of course.
“I try hard to grow it to look as cool as my brother,” I say, doing my best to channel Chris’s utterly annoying outgoingness while still complimenting me.
Barney studies my face, arching a white bushy brow as he rings up the oranges. Exaggeratedly he peers over the counter and down at the trusted mutt by my side. “Funny. Millie looks taller, redder, and is now a boy.”
Busted. Chris’s dog is a female Jack Russell mix. But you win some, you lose some. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
Barney shakes his head. “You can’t fool me, kid.”
“Evidently.”
“Nice to have you back though, Noah.”
“That’s debatable,” I say.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he adds, since some people can’t help themselves—they’re just happy for no reason.
Outside, snowflakes sting my cheeks. I glance again at the woman with the pretty, pale, heart-shaped face. She’s crouching by the red truck, phone in one hand, kit in the other, her gaze bouncing between them. Maybe she’s not so tire savvy after all.
I started this trip last night after my final appointment of the day—an owner who wanted to know why her German Shepherd only responded to commands in English. Last thing I want to do is interact with anyone right now, but leaving her stranded in the snow isn’t an option. Gramps taught me better.
“Load up, Rusty.” I open the back door of my truck, pat the car seat, remove the booties, and secure my dog. I pocket the candy, grab my cowboy hat to keep the flakes out of my eyes, then crunch across the lot toward her.
When I reach her side, I clear my throat. “Hey there. I’m Dr. Lennox,” I say, because doctor sounds less like “serial killer” than a name alone, and you’ve got to do your best to reassure people you’re not one of the bad guys these days.
She tilts her head my way, eyes wary, and… whoa. I see heterochromia in huskies and Aussie shepherds, but hardly in humans. She has different-colored eyes: One’s green like a tree in the forest; the other’s blue as a tropical sea, and both are devastating.
My pulse spikes, but I shove aside her knock-me-to-my-knees looks, nodding to the tire. “Need help? Don’t worry. I’m not a serial killer.”
Relief softens her features, followed by a grin. “And hopefully not a onetime-only killer either?”
“Correct. Nor a spree killer. Or a hit man.”
“Ah, we have a true crime fanatic here?”
“Nope. I prefer fictional crime. The more chilling the better. You?”
“God no. I like happy news only. Real happy news,” she says, and I fight off an eye roll, because… is there even such a thing?
“I do, however, know how to use a tire-repair kit for real,” I say, and her pretty pink lips twitch, maybe in a hint of a grin, so I keep going. “Happy to help if you need it. But if you moonlight as a mechanic, I’ll leave you to it.”
Her smile is glittery. “My moonlighting is something else entirely,” she says in a tone that’s playful and welcoming but also stokes my curiosity—what does she moonlight as?
“And I would love some help, Dr. Lennox,” she says, then lowers her voice to a whisper. “Also I totally know you’re not a serial killer or an ax murderer. I follow you on social. Love your show.”
Social media is right up there on my list of favorite things alongside drying my face with sandpaper, drinking tar, and, well, socializing. I’m about to grumble, “I’m not that Dr. Lennox,” but I swallow that response down stat.
Remember the game, man.
Not only can I help a woman who needs it, I can snag some easy points in the twin game. As long as I prove I’ve pulled it off. The rules are simple—pretend to be the other one until it stops being fun and always document a win. Messing with my brother is one of the few holiday traditions I can get behind.
“That’s me,” I say, easygoing and light, like Chris.
“You do such great work with The Hot Vet,” she says.
Seriously? Is this what my brother’s life is like? People throwing themselves at him since he knows how to operate a phone camera and a smile?
Well, yeah. Seems it is.
I give a humble shrug. “Just doing my part,” I say as I reach for the tire-repair kit.
But as I stand back to assess the damage, I spot a host of bumper stickers on her truck.
Nice until proven naughty.
I’ve been good-ish all year.
Dear Santa, I can explain.
Ah, hell, she’s a devout jolly. And there’s little I enjoy more than trying to deprogram one of the devoted. Well, if I’m going to be stuck in the Evergreen Falls area for Thanksgiving weekend, I might as well have some fun.
Noah
Fact: Retirement parties should be held on Zoom. Especially ones during the holidays. Then I could raise a glass to my gramps from my Colorado cabin, shut my laptop, and spend the Thanksgiving break with the only company I actually enjoy—my dog, Rusty.
Instead, I’m mere minutes away from my destination after hours on the road, windshield wipers battling snow, listening to the latest crime thriller while I brace myself for two of my least favorite things—people and commercially manufactured cheer.
Rusty catches my attention in the rearview mirror, giving me plaintive sad eyes that only my Irish setter mutt can serve up.
“Next rest stop, buddy. You can sign your name in the snow, and I’ll grab some chocolate-covered orange slices.”
Those treats are the only way I’ll survive Evergreen Falls, an overly festive, overly Christmas-ified, overly everything town near Lake Tahoe where everyone wants to know if you’re enjoying the holiday season. I’m a veterinarian. Enjoy is not a word we associate with the holidays, given the way our business ramps up with emergencies at this time of year, and with unwanted pets delivered to us. Breaks my fucking heart.
The highway curves toward my hometown. I squint at a sign up ahead, a bushy green garland wrapped around it. Barney’s Roadside Snacks and Gas—an institution known for not only its fuel but also its fantastic candy selection—is still in business more than a decade after I took off for college.
Some things never change. Like the fact that Barney sells the best candy in the state.
I pull off the snowy road, then park my truck. After I unhook Rusty from his comfy, custom car seat, I slip some booties onto his feet. Anything for my best friend. You never know what you’ll find in a gas station parking lot, like puddles of antifreeze, that deadly temptress for pups.
We pass a juniper bush, all decked out in Christmas lights—typical Barney—on our way to a nearby patch of snow-covered grass. As Rusty takes care of business, my attention snags on something bright and shiny pulling into the parking lot. Even through the falling snow, it’s hard to miss the vintage red truck complete with a rounded hood and curving fenders. There’s a Christmas tree in the bed.
Of course.
It’s like someone is auditioning for the role of “nostalgia-loving quirky character” in a holiday flick.
Ten bucks says it belongs to Mayor Bumblefritz from Evergreen Falls. But when the driver’s door creaks open, it’s not the Mrs. Claus–esque figure who emerges.
Out steps a woman in sleek black pants, a red wool coat, and a white scarf. Her light brown hair frames her cheekbones in soft waves that look like they took all morning to style. Pretty and way too put together. She’s the type of woman who’d wear stilettos in the snow. And break an ankle in them for the sake of fashion.
But when I glance down, I see she’s actually wearing sturdy snow boots. Okay, then. I’m wrong once a year, and apparently today is the day.
She’s carrying a patch kit, and since she marches straight to the tire at the back of the truck, it seems like she knows what she’s doing. Good. I turn the other way, Rusty trotting by my side as we head into the shop, where “Let It Snow” crackles on an old sound system.
The scent of sugar in all flavors drifts past my nose—tart, sickly sweet, and everything in between. I beeline straight for the second aisle. Some things you just don’t forget—like the location of your favorite treats. I dart out a hand and grab a bag of chocolate-covered orange slices.
At the counter, a grizzled old man in a fisherman’s sweater looks up from his crossword puzzle book when I set down the goods.
“Afternoon, Chris. Still getting used to you with that beard,” says the old guy.
This is great. Barney thinks I’m my identical twin—Chris. The usually clean-shaven local celebrity vet has both an online show and an overabundance of charm. And evidently, some facial hair to match mine.
Time to play my favorite holiday game: annoy my brother by pretending I’m him for as long as I can without getting caught. And while getting some digs in, of course.
“I try hard to grow it to look as cool as my brother,” I say, doing my best to channel Chris’s utterly annoying outgoingness while still complimenting me.
Barney studies my face, arching a white bushy brow as he rings up the oranges. Exaggeratedly he peers over the counter and down at the trusted mutt by my side. “Funny. Millie looks taller, redder, and is now a boy.”
Busted. Chris’s dog is a female Jack Russell mix. But you win some, you lose some. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
Barney shakes his head. “You can’t fool me, kid.”
“Evidently.”
“Nice to have you back though, Noah.”
“That’s debatable,” I say.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he adds, since some people can’t help themselves—they’re just happy for no reason.
Outside, snowflakes sting my cheeks. I glance again at the woman with the pretty, pale, heart-shaped face. She’s crouching by the red truck, phone in one hand, kit in the other, her gaze bouncing between them. Maybe she’s not so tire savvy after all.
I started this trip last night after my final appointment of the day—an owner who wanted to know why her German Shepherd only responded to commands in English. Last thing I want to do is interact with anyone right now, but leaving her stranded in the snow isn’t an option. Gramps taught me better.
“Load up, Rusty.” I open the back door of my truck, pat the car seat, remove the booties, and secure my dog. I pocket the candy, grab my cowboy hat to keep the flakes out of my eyes, then crunch across the lot toward her.
When I reach her side, I clear my throat. “Hey there. I’m Dr. Lennox,” I say, because doctor sounds less like “serial killer” than a name alone, and you’ve got to do your best to reassure people you’re not one of the bad guys these days.
She tilts her head my way, eyes wary, and… whoa. I see heterochromia in huskies and Aussie shepherds, but hardly in humans. She has different-colored eyes: One’s green like a tree in the forest; the other’s blue as a tropical sea, and both are devastating.
My pulse spikes, but I shove aside her knock-me-to-my-knees looks, nodding to the tire. “Need help? Don’t worry. I’m not a serial killer.”
Relief softens her features, followed by a grin. “And hopefully not a onetime-only killer either?”
“Correct. Nor a spree killer. Or a hit man.”
“Ah, we have a true crime fanatic here?”
“Nope. I prefer fictional crime. The more chilling the better. You?”
“God no. I like happy news only. Real happy news,” she says, and I fight off an eye roll, because… is there even such a thing?
“I do, however, know how to use a tire-repair kit for real,” I say, and her pretty pink lips twitch, maybe in a hint of a grin, so I keep going. “Happy to help if you need it. But if you moonlight as a mechanic, I’ll leave you to it.”
Her smile is glittery. “My moonlighting is something else entirely,” she says in a tone that’s playful and welcoming but also stokes my curiosity—what does she moonlight as?
“And I would love some help, Dr. Lennox,” she says, then lowers her voice to a whisper. “Also I totally know you’re not a serial killer or an ax murderer. I follow you on social. Love your show.”
Social media is right up there on my list of favorite things alongside drying my face with sandpaper, drinking tar, and, well, socializing. I’m about to grumble, “I’m not that Dr. Lennox,” but I swallow that response down stat.
Remember the game, man.
Not only can I help a woman who needs it, I can snag some easy points in the twin game. As long as I prove I’ve pulled it off. The rules are simple—pretend to be the other one until it stops being fun and always document a win. Messing with my brother is one of the few holiday traditions I can get behind.
“That’s me,” I say, easygoing and light, like Chris.
“You do such great work with The Hot Vet,” she says.
Seriously? Is this what my brother’s life is like? People throwing themselves at him since he knows how to operate a phone camera and a smile?
Well, yeah. Seems it is.
I give a humble shrug. “Just doing my part,” I say as I reach for the tire-repair kit.
But as I stand back to assess the damage, I spot a host of bumper stickers on her truck.
Nice until proven naughty.
I’ve been good-ish all year.
Dear Santa, I can explain.
Ah, hell, she’s a devout jolly. And there’s little I enjoy more than trying to deprogram one of the devoted. Well, if I’m going to be stuck in the Evergreen Falls area for Thanksgiving weekend, I might as well have some fun.
Recenzii
“Blakely delivers all the requisite cozy small-town vibes of a Hallmark holiday rom-com combined with oodles of sexy heat (including a naughty Christmas carol-off), making this the perfect gift for readers who like their romances on the spicy side.” —Booklist
"[A] heartwarming grumpy/sunshine romance… This is sure to put readers in the holiday spirit." —Publishers Weekly
“Blakely delivers rom-com perfection with sharp banter, undeniable chemistry, and a fake relationship that slowly turns genuine and emotional, while providing twin-swap shenanigans, scene-stealing animals, slow-burn tension, and festive steam, all wrapped up in cozy small-town charm... A charming contemporary rom-com with strong Hallmark-movie energy in the best possible way. It’s warm, witty, and impossible to put down.” —Library Journal
"[A] heartwarming grumpy/sunshine romance… This is sure to put readers in the holiday spirit." —Publishers Weekly
“Blakely delivers rom-com perfection with sharp banter, undeniable chemistry, and a fake relationship that slowly turns genuine and emotional, while providing twin-swap shenanigans, scene-stealing animals, slow-burn tension, and festive steam, all wrapped up in cozy small-town charm... A charming contemporary rom-com with strong Hallmark-movie energy in the best possible way. It’s warm, witty, and impossible to put down.” —Library Journal
Descriere
Descriere de la o altă ediție sau format:
The deluxe limited edition of Mistletoe All the Way features stenciled edges.
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Lauren Blakely, a small-town spicy, holiday romance about a guarded cowboy veterinarian and a Christmas-loving optimist who team up for a town holiday pageant.
The deluxe limited edition of Mistletoe All the Way features stenciled edges.
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Lauren Blakely, a small-town spicy, holiday romance about a guarded cowboy veterinarian and a Christmas-loving optimist who team up for a town holiday pageant.